


superficial-partial

by taonsils (mirokkuma)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Temperature Play, pain play, powers au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:16:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirokkuma/pseuds/taonsils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Zitao had approached him about the subject, faltering and then in a stream of embarrassed panic, Chanyeol had agreed because making the people he loves happy makes him happy. Life is short; if Zitao is weird and only he can cater to it he may as well. Just when he's ready. Like in a few more months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	superficial-partial

**Author's Note:**

> I've lost half of the entire draft of this once and lost edits to it three times in a row, why does the universe conspire against chantao being a thing :C fill for my non-impact pain play square.

" _Just stop time._ "

Chanyeol's fingers are gripping both sides of the doorframe and Zitao changes technique from trying to shove him through to tugging with arms around his waist. "I never agreed— secret meetings— locking ourselves away, if you're _so worried_ then stop time."

"Don't make promises if you're not going to follow through," Zitao huffs, "I can't keep you anu.. ani.. animat.. _moving_ and everyone else stopped for long enough." He resorts to tickling. Chanyeol crumples. "Not if you're going to be like this, anyway."

"Sorry I'm not more enthusiastic about inflicting grievous bodily harm." Chanyeol rubs his sides to disperse the tickle-ache, hunching over and digging his heels into the floor in a final small act of protest as Zitao pushes him far enough into the room to close the door. When Zitao had approached him about the subject, faltering and then in a stream of embarrassed panic, Chanyeol had agreed because making the people he loves happy makes him happy. Life is short; if Zitao is weird and only he can cater to it he may as well. Just when he's ready. Like in a few more months.

"Stop making it sound like a big deal." Zitao shoves again. It is a big deal and his hands want to keep busy. He's nervous as hell and has no idea what to expect. Since confiding in Chanyeol that he was pretty much kind of very desperately certain he wanted to be burned they've discussed the semantics of it on and off, usually through texts and mostly through insults, but Chanyeol's never said a thing about what he intends to do.

Chanyeol perches on the edge of his bed and gives the Rilakkuma troop an earnest look of apology for what they're about to witness. "I'm going to hurt you," he says a lot soft and a little annoyed, because Zitao's seeing this as the opposite of a problem, "So don't blame me for being kinda nervous."

Zitao stalks over and sits at his side, hands wrung in his lap. It occurs to him that they've never spent much time alone together, and here might not be the best place to start. "I'm not. But you shouldn't be. I mean, I asked, so it's not like I don't think it'll be ok. And we don't have all that much time," he urges unsubtly, usual impatience staggered by a waver to his voice that Chanyeol can't place. It's anticipation, mostly, perched high and fluttering in Zitao's chest. Chanyeol's cautious, though. Hesitant because he sometimes jolts awake breathless and sweat sheened, the loss of people and places to flames from his own hand so nearly real he doesn't always return to sleep dry-eyed.

"Please don't change your mind." Zitao's tone is a softer kind of whine than usual. He looks softer, too, as though if it weren't for the uncertainty grounding him he'd be boneless. "I've been waiting so long, hyung, I've been thinking about it for.."

"No, gross," Chanyeol cuts in, hands raised. Not interested in knowing what Zitao thinks about in the shower, especially if it involves himself. "We can do this if you don't say anything else."

_Nothing?_ Zitao mouths, brow creased.

"Ugh. Just—"

Zitao watches on, silent regardless of permission to speak as Chanyeol yanks his arm from his side and impatiently pushes up his sleeve. It's too tight to fit over his elbow but Chanyeol pulls on Zitao's wrist like he can stretch him out enough for it to go.

"This isn't working," he announces when Zitao fails to change shape, "Shirt off. And I mean no more gross stuff. Thinking about me. That kind of.." Chanyeol gestures non-descriptively with his free hand, finger and thumb of the other wedged under the cuff around Zitao's elbow. Zitao nods and continues to say nothing while Chanyeol frees himself. Chanyeol's fingers are surprisingly cool pressed into his elbow - or perhaps not surprising, it's not as though Minseok doesn't have a warm touch.

"It doesn't work how I thought it did," Zitao says from inside his shirt as he tugs it over his head. "Elemental powers. They're not ever how I expect."

Chanyeol shrugs. Helps free Zitao from his shirt, drops it aside, pushes him down. Zitao's back hits the mattress and his heart leaps up into his throat. _No gross things_ , he reminds himself, and stares up into the darkness of the bunk above.

Chanyeol clambers in beside him, big in a more ungainly way than Zitao and shoving and wriggling to fit in. "Huh," he says after a moment of them lying side by side. He can't recall that they've ever shared a bed.

Zitao has a knee in Chanyeol's thigh and Chanyeol's elbow makes a home of Zitao's ribs, and Chanyeol's silence at his side isn't doing much for his nerves. He doesn't want to look to see if Chanyeol is looking at him but crosses his arms over his bare chest anyway. Not that it's anything he, or any of the others for that matter, haven't seen before, but, circumstances. There was no way for this to not be kind of uncomfortable.

"So. I, uh," Chanyeol's voice comes out at such a quiet depth when he finally speaks again that Zitao strains to hear. Tips of hair meet and still he leans closer. Chanyeol's breath is unpleasantly hot over his shoulder when he lowers his head, says, "I get wanting stuff," with enough distance that Zitao is assured Chanyeol isn't the one doing the wanting, or that he's the first to have asked a favour. Chanyeol's generosity when it comes to spreading happiness comes with it's issues. "I mean, this.. I don't _get it_ , but.. 's ok."

Zitao nods. "Now you're talking about gross things."

Chanyeol knees him and Zitao snickers like his heart isn't pounding.

 

Zitao always imagined that he'd tremble, yet his arm presents straight and steady as he holds it out to Chanyeol. They're both on their sides propped on an elbow and Chanyeol feels like this is probably one of his worse ideas, doesn't look any more confident than someone who had to be forcibly dragged into doing something should.

"Ok," he gulps. Spreads his fingers over Zitao's arm and Zitao watches on, intrigued and squeezed breathless in anticipation. Chanyeol's palm ghosts an inch above the skin, sweeps from elbow to wrist, wrist to elbow. The space between hand and arm warms, just slightly, and Zitao's breath stammers out when there's no pain to bate it for. Chanyeol is usually heavy handed in enthusiasm, but Zitao supposes fire hazards shouldn't be taken lightly.

"Don't even," Chanyeol warns. The heat disappears with a curl of his fingers, if anything more noticeable in the cool air of it's absence. "I've never done this before and I don't want to incinerate your arm or anything so don't—"

"It feels like Spring."

—-even complain that it.." Words suddenly stick in Chanyeol's mouth, heavy and ready but, what? He blinks at Zitao, who blinks back, slower. "Spring."

Zitao raises his arm between them again, unaware until now that it had dropped. "I can be patient, hyung," he says without the conviction of someone who is renown for a mild manner, but serious enough.

Chanyeol nods and fans his fingers again, _like Spring_ lodged in the back of his mind and heat in the tips of his ears. Chanyeol is not an ember. The fuel is always there, the spark simple muscle memory. This is easy, under control. The last time he slipped was years ago, it's under control, and he hears "—it's either in here or your room," a split second before the rattle of the door handle turning.

They startle together; Zitao hides against Chanyeol, Chanyeol nearly jumps out of his skin. A voice too distant to make out follows, footsteps padding away. Chanyeol didn't spontaneously flare or spark or so much as warm from the shock. Zitao is silently disappointed, face pressed against his shoulder. If anything his own skin is hotter.

"Guess whatever it is wasn't in here," he mumbles after a moment waiting for his pulse to stop shaking his voice. "We should hurry up."

"Scary, huh," Chanyeol rumbles over Zitao's head, tries not to think about how they'd explain what they're doing. Whatever it is they're doing. It's not like Chanyeol doesn't warm drinks and clothes and entire rooms for his bandmates; doing people favours isn't a bad thing.

Zitao's skin is chilled without his shirt. Chanyeol only notices as he gives him an encouraging little shove so they can get reorganised. He can't help wondering if this whole thing will just be a disappointment to him, and while he hasn't enthused over the idea of inflicting any-degree burns on a friend, the thought makes his heart sink.

"Ok. Let's see how this goes."

Zitao props himself on his elbow again while Chanyeol elects for squirming up to rest back against the wall. He looks more concentrated than before and Zitao watches him contemplating, fingers pinched together and thumb flicking over the tips. Like he's trying to strike a lighter, Zitao thinks. Zitao owned a lighter briefly, hidden in his pillowcase. A good three days and a long, long lecture about the dangers of smoking and scandals when it unsurprisingly got found.

"Arm. Keep it still," Chanyeol instructs absently, attention still focused on his fingertips. Zitao complies quickly, not wanting any heat Chanyeol is building to dissipate because he didn't follow orders, shifting his body closer and making Chanyeol grumble as he stretches an arm over his hip.

"Keep still," he repeats after tugging the point of Zitao's elbow away from his crotch. He's not sure what kind of weird he'd been anticipating this to be, but it's living up to expectations so far. He would say something to signal that he's about to start, but Zitao's eyes are already fixed, a concentrated squint in the dim light, and he'd only make some breathy sound Chanyeol doesn't need to hear anyway. So Chanyeol takes a focused breath, thinks about how not-wrongly this is going to go, presses three fingertips to the hinge of Zitao's elbow. Tries to ignore both the insipid half-memories of nightmares and how Zitao's breathing is a heavy, distracting pattern.

The pads of his fingers skitter over Zitao's arm as he swipes them down, abrupt like he's trying to strike a match. Zitao jolts in surprise at the streak of heat, tenses rock hard against Chanyeol and they both gasp, respectively shock and horror.

"I'm fine it didn't hurt, I'm ok, don't worry," he assures Chanyeol in a worried tumble of syllables, "It just surprised me. It's ok. It's barely warm still. Move slower."

The look Chanyeol gives him is indignant but at least softened away from panic. He'd tell Zitao to keep quiet because he knows what he's doing if it were true, and the fact it's not only makes this more nerve racking.

The next attempt is a slower, measured pressure over Zitao's forearm. Chanyeol wants to watch him, concern and curiosity, but he's nervous of breaking concentration. Zitao does nothing to indicate there's any pain though, which Chanyeol takes as both reassuring and a sign he's not turned it up enough yet. "How is it?"

Zitao glances up at him a little dazed. "Kind of.. you know when the shower only feels hot because your skin is cold?"

Chanyeol would roll his eyes if he weren't keeping them so attentively fixed on his hand, Zitao's arm, the passes back and forth. "You're hard to please."

Zitao shakes his head. "You're holding back."

"Don't," Chanyeol starts in warning, and he'd let himself get frustrated and maybe kick Zitao and his weird requests out of his bed if it weren't for the realisation that the fine hair under his fingers has singed. He's officially destroyed a part of someone he cares about.

Zitao follows the startled look on his face, squints, and laughs soft and high in surprise. "You could market that." His mouth sounds dry. He's ok. And right, so Chanyeol will be ok too.

 

Chanyeol, after agreeing to a pact Zitao whines the terms of into his pillow and against his waist that binds him to getting the fuck on with it, tries Zitao's inner arm first. The skin is soft and feels delicate wherever Chanyeol positions his fingers. Mindful of tendons, skimming Zitao's pulse, settling, eventually, to be told in a quiet little voice that he's found Zitao's nausea pressure point.

"It works, I think.." Zitao mumbles, so aware of the pressure three fingers width down from his palm that he's unaware of nearly everything else. Pulse, pressure, the knots in his stomach. "I'll show you how to find it. I should have shown everyone sooner. Hyung.."

"You need to tell me if it's bad," Chanyeol cuts in. He doesn't really do stern, but he does a dip in his voice that sounds like he's either going to cry or destroy things Zitao loves. "The second it's too bad, tell me so I can stop in time."

"Yes." Zitao's toes curl, his free hand balling into the sheets.

The pressure of Chanyeol's fingers increases minutely. His brow furrows, and so does Zitao's as he watches. Then Chanyeol's skin begins to warm, the pads of his fingers tepid on a calming inhale and like metal under the sun as he slowly blows the breath back out. Zitao swallows back a gasp in case it frightens Chanyeol, but the deeper the heat reaches the tighter his throat constricts, until the tiniest sound escapes and the sting suddenly isn't focused but spreading, easing.

Chanyeol's hand lifts away, fingers twitching. When he looks down Zitao's eyes are stark, gone liquid, and Chanyeol doesn't know what to do with that. What he does in the end is clear his throat and pry. "Have you ever done.. like, this kind of thing before?"

"I have," Zitao replies absently, absorbed in passes of his own fingers over the pink blotches Chanyeol's left behind. Heat radiates from them as though Zitao is the one with fire beneath his skin. His eyes slip shut. "A little. I can only change so much with time, so secrets still aren't all that easy to keep."

"Uh. Yeah, I guess." Chanyeol doesn't ever give much thought to when and why Zitao slows the world down - chooses not to, the concept weirds him out too much. "Not here, anyway, huh. I'm sure someone will know about this before the week is out."

At that Zitao blinks his focus back up to Chanyeol. "I won't get you in trouble. ..unless you do accidentally set me on fire. Mama would have to come put it out, I think he'd figure it was.." Zitao is hazy but nowhere near far enough gone to miss the sudden tightness to Chanyeol's expression. "..you. Hyung? Sorry, I know I shouldn't be teasing when you're doing me a favour like this."

"No, I. I have bad dreams," Chanyeol says before he wants to. Weeks, maybe years before he wants to. Everyone else is fine. "I get scared. I mean, no, I know what I'm doing, but."

"Don't tell me if you don't want to," Zitao offers softly, skin cooling, blood boiling. The urge is there, the selfish impulse to whine and plead to get his own way. He isn't beyond it, but he's also indebted by favour and friendship, pressed into Chanyeol's side and he's evidently not the only one feeling a little vulnerable. "But if you do.."

"No," Chanyeol smiles, genuine if a little wilted. "I'm good. Let's finish this. But thanks, I guess."

"Maybe this'll help." Zitao's voice is vague, eyes fixed on Chanyeol's fingertips as they lower to his forearm again. "Replace scary thoughts, 'cause it's a good thing."

"So I should really just stop being so careful?"

It's a joke, if only half of one. Zitao looks like he could melt away into the mattress though, so Chanyeol clears his throat, tries not to dwell either on talk of nightmares or that streak of adrenaline when he heats that never left since the slip or that Zitao isn't going to at least try to pretend he's not turned on. Chanyeol supposes it was short-sighted not to have expected it. And that he should maybe just do what he said he'd do.

He tries Zitao's outer arm next, the flat of four fingers gently rocking back and forth. Zitao doesn't watch this time, instead presses his cheek to Chanyeol's waist again and shudders as the heat starts to seep through. Chanyeol's fingers drag up a little, maybe, it's just white pressure and he can't feel the touch anymore.

For a moment Chanyeol slips his focus to Zitao, trembling shoulders, muscles visibly contracting.

"More?" Zitao hears, misses the softness and just rubs his cheekbone into Chanyeol's side in a nod. The increase is too slight to make note of until the sharpness sets in, drawing to a peak under the centre of each finger. It's a kind of pain that goes straight into his bloodstream, straight to the pit of his stomach, and he really hadn't meant to embarrass Chanyeol or weird him out but he's _aching_ — and then it grows too grating without warning. Zitao's draw away from the burn is instinctive, wordless. Chanyeol pinches the heat from his fingers and elbows him.

"You were supposed to say something. Are you hurt?"

"No," Zitao sounds with his lip pinched between his teeth, skin enflamed and _throb_ _throb_ throbbing and it's as good as the heat was. Zitao folds his legs, shifts. Chanyeol takes his arm with the other hand, carefully feels over the painfully sensitised skin with fingers shockingly cool in contrast. Zitao full out writhes.

"Remember about 'no gross things'?" Chanyeol grumbles, continuing his inspection with a firmer grip.

"You only said not to say them," Zitao whines into his hip like Chanyeol is in the wrong, frustrated and embarrassed and he doesn't honestly know what he thought was going to happen but this hadn't been part of the plan. His face is entirely hidden but Chanyeol sees the spread of pink creeping down his neck. And Chanyeol must be a better friend than he had even thought he was, because he does it again. Touches his fingers to Zitao's wrist, nothing sudden, nothing harsh. A trail of gentle heat the length of Zitao's arm, a hotter flare pressed into the soft inner arm below his shoulder that draws out a groan. Zitao sucks it sharply back into his throat as the burn continues over his back. Chanyeol leans over and Zitao presses his face into his forearm, his front into the mattress.

"You're gonna owe me for this, ok?" Chanyeol isn't including his share of fascination in how Zitao responds to his touch as return for him doing it. That he can do something so delicate with a power so destructive. "Are you listening?" Chanyeol presses, doesn't flare any hotter.

Zitao just breathes. The searing pain and flushes of arousal course through him as one and yes, he's fine with owing Chanyeol for as long as necessary, "Hyung— sorry—" face down, eyes and mouth wet, white heat in his veins and cresting in the pit of his stomach.

Fingers dip between Zitao's shoulder blades and then spread as Chanyeol's confidence grows. Heat outlines the full breadth of his palm and there's only a moments hesitation before he leans down, plants the flat of his hand at the base of Zitao's spine and drags upwards.

Zitao clamps his jaw shut, lets out a muffled whimper, like when he's afraid but with none of the panicked intonations. For the longest ten seconds of his life he thinks he could come like this, skin blistering, in Chanyeol's bed, in his new jeans. He grasps at the sheets for leverage, digs his toes into the mattress, forgets to breathe and drags back and forth over the sheets.

He can't. The build starts to fade, the burns start to ache.

Dazed, Zitao realises Chanyeol has already stopped by the time he meekly asks him to. Heat's radiating from under his skin and now it just hurts. It _hurts_. He whimpers in an entirely different tone as the stars fade from behind his eyes, dying out into pain.

Chanyeol's ears are scarlet, but the heat and colour drain from him when the sniffling starts. He ignores it for a moment, picking at his jeans and trying to shut out the scream from the back of his mind that he should never have agreed to this. Should have stayed cautious, believed that all he can do is destroy.

"Hyung?" Zitao ventures shakily. Raises his head and there are tears heavy under his eyes.

Panic starts to set in. Chanyeol's heart thunders. Zitao whines from deep in his throat at the jostling as Chanyeol tries to climb past him. Yixing can make him better. "Yixing will stop it hurting, he'll make it better but I don't know what to tell him, I—"

" _Hyung_ —" Zitao's arm throws heavy over his waist, pulls hard. He sniffs again, scrubs at his eyes. Chanyeol only settles back because the thought of explaining this to anyone seemed a lot more plausible when Zitao wasn't crying.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just.. but you were.. I thought you'd tell me if it—"

"Shut up," Zitao sniffs, mouth wet, "and just, just—" drags Chanyeol's arm around himself and moves the little he feels able. "I can deal with it, just.."

Chanyeol doesn't know 'just' what, but Zitao soon starts to calm with arms around around his shoulders, all in a crumpled, blistered heap across Chanyeol's lap.

 

"What you can do is.. I always thought it was kinda ugly. Or, no," Zitao says minutes later, eyes dry, tension dissipated. "It's useful. But it's.."

"Destructive?" Chanyeol supplies glumly, arm dead under Zitao's shoulder, eyes fixed on the pink flare to his skin. Fire is such a raw force. Suited to him, he's told, and he always smiles so wide.

"Yeah. I didn't know you could do all that stuff. It's beautiful."

"I don't think that's the word you wanted." Chanyeol nudges, but Zitao looks content and sleepy and not like he's about to search his vocabulary for anything else. Chanyeol wonders if he looks content, too, a flicker of a glow. Like Spring. He isn't, though, with a shirtless tear-stained Zitao in a state he really hadn't needed to get up close to in his lap. "Hey. Are you going to go back and do this again?"

Zitao's lips curl. "Mhmm. Maybe I already am."

"What," Chanyeol groans, "Don't do that. If I ask next time don't tell me."

Zitao starts to laugh but it hurts. His skin pulls tight, numb and buzzing at once. "I should get under cold water," he says, chin digging into Chanyeol's thigh. "And someone should stay with me to make sure I'm ok."

"No," Chanyeol says firmly, because he's already let Zitao desecrate his (and Rilakkuma's) space and provided cuddles with no forewarning. "I'll wait near the door."

"And warm clothes for me for afterwards?"

" _No._ You're the one that owes me _._ " 

"Thank you," Zitao smiles blithely. Gingerly starts to kneel up, supported with a hesitant hand to his shoulder. He covers it with his own briefly, a squeeze, thumb rubbing knuckles. "If you want to talk about what you said any time, I—"

"No, gross things, get out, bye." Chanyeol shakes his hand free, shoos Zitao off of the bed (slowly, gently, with a hold on his waist). Covers him on his way to the bathroom, grumbles endlessly as he lingers outside the door. Holds and folds and re-folds Zitao's earlier discarded shirt in his hands until it warms through and nearly forgets to worry that he could slip and send it up in flames.


End file.
